


Mr. Positivity

by probablytori



Category: N/A - Fandom, None - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probablytori/pseuds/probablytori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'll see when you read....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Positivity

The whole house rattled as the door slammed against the frame. He stopped typing, waiting. The sound of shattered glass reached his ears.  
"Piece of SHIT!" along with a string of mumbled curses rang shrill through the air.  
Heavy footsteps clambered up the stairs, approaching. His empty gaze fell straight ahead. The door handle clicked. His breathing faltered, but his face remained composed. The squeak of the hinges told him of the presence of another in his space. The air buzzed with apprehension as feet dragged across the filthy carpet. He heard them stop and held his breath, choked with dreaded anticipation. He knew what was coming, but he could never quite prepare himself for the fury, the absolute loathing. His own mother held no compassion in this state, no mercy. The air wheezed as she sucked in a breath. He didn't dare to move.  
"The nerve of you, useless, sitting up here. On that god damn laptop. Do you know how much that thing costs? You don't even pull your own weight around here, you hopeless, incompetent waste of space." Her voice steadily rose, until her screaming filled the small room, piercing his sensitive ears. "At least if your father was here we wouldn't be struggling so much, but you had to go and piss him off and now he's trapped in that cell because of you. And I'm stuck with you, insisting that you still deserve to go to college. All of this is your fault. You're the reason I'm drinking myself to death. It's because I have to deal with a broken son that wastes his time and my money pretending he's got a future!"   
The slam of the door reverberated through his ears, and she was gone. No tears fell, not this time. He wouldn't let them. The words stabbed through his heart, but he had a paper to finish. The keys clacked on his keyboard as he continued to evaluate the dynamics of society in ancient Greece. The rhythmic sound of his own typing eventually began to sooth his broken heart.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, are you okay?" The voice of his best friend cut through the memories of the night before. He felt a pull on the arm that was guiding him, telling him Nick had stopped walking. He followed the motion.   
"You seem kind of out of it, is something wrong?" He bit his lip and shook his head. He felt his hair sweep across his forehead. He heard the sigh cut through the air and began walking again, trusting the boy next to him to keep him out of harm's way. He could feel him staring, but decided it wasn't worth it to comment. The rest of the walk to class was silent between them, the sound of the busy campus filling the space between them.   
He heard the room slowly fill with his peers and the chatter they brought with them until the sound of the professor's authoritative voice began the lesson. He vehemently typed out notes to keep up with the teacher's fast pace.   
With the end of the class, he followed Nick to their favorite small cafe for lunch. Most of the patrons were studying, or at least that's what he assumed they were doing, so it was a quiet place. He could hear flipping pages, clicking on keyboards, the steam of the coffee maker, everything. This was exactly how he liked it. In crowded places, all the noise clouded all the sensations he had left, leaving him lost and completely dependent on others. He's been trying his best to be independent since It happened so many years ago.   
He was only nine. He had so much left to experience in the world when his father had done...It. He could still feel the burning embers of the fireplace, the scars left behind. He felt nauseous as memories overwhelmed him. He could hear his father screaming at him, feel his hand pushing on the back of his head. His lungs filled with ash, sirens wailed, his face was burning, he couldn't breathe.  
"Christian, CHRISTIAN!" There was pressure on his arms, someone was grabbing him. "Christian!" He felt eyes on him. He was shaking. He grabbed at the arms holding onto him. He felt like he was drifting away, he needed something to pull him back.   
He heard a familiar voice, "It's okay. You're okay, Christian," Nick. Nick was here. "Here drink some water." He felt a cool glass at his lips. He still felt people staring as him as he began to calm down. He took hold of the glass himself and heard his friend return to his seat. Deep breaths. He took a sip of the icy liquid to quench his dry throat. More breathing. He sensed the eyes leaving him. He placed down the cup and felt around for his friends hand, finding it on top of the table. He was still here. He hadn't left him. Yet.   
His ears perked at the sound of the bell on the door ringing. The noise cut through the tension in the air. Expensive sounding shoes tapped past their table. The new customer, obviously a man by his gruff voice, ordered, breaking the awkward silence that had filled the cafe. Chatter slowly picked back up until the normal sounds of the cafe returned. Christian felt a gaze on his face and self consciously combed his hair over his eyes. He tipped back his cup, finishing off his coffee, waiting it to be time for his next class.

 

* * *

 

It smelt like cologne and laundry. And something else. Something that was distinctly Nick. He laid on the bed in Nick's dorm with a braille book on his stomach. He was 'reading', but it wasn't quite what he wanted. He had loved to read as a kid, when he could actually read. But it was so much harder to get lost in a book when you couldn't see the words. He tried his best to visualize but sometimes it was tough.  
The bed moved, he flinched. There was a deep breath and a sigh. He knew Nick wanted to talk about what had happened, but he didn't. He got up and headed to where he knew the bathroom was. Another sigh.  
"Christian..." Nick sounded annoyed. Christian turned his blank gaze onto the other boy, pretending to be ignorant of the situation.  
"What? I gotta take a leak." He walked away, Nick's disgruntled sound smothered by the door closing. He sat on the closed toilet, head in his hands, putting off the inevitable. He could only sit in there for so long before Nick got suspicious. He could always just walk out, but then he'd have to use his cane, and he hated that thing. People would always come up to him and try to help him like he couldn't take care of himself. He could though. He could be independent.   
He stood up and walked back into the main room and sat on the bed.   
"So..."  
"So."  
Nick sighed, god he's been doing that a lot. "So how are you doing?"  
Ugh. "I'm fine, Nick. How are you?" Sarcasm laced his words.  
"What was that earlier?" Nick had decided that was enough small talk, "Are you still having flashbacks? Do you need to talk about it?"  
"I'm fine" He began. Before he could continue Nick cut him off.  
"Obviously you're NOT fine, Christian. What's going on?"  
"I don't want to talk about it."  
"But you need to talk abou-"  
"Shut up, I said I don't wanna talk about it!"  
"Christia-"  
"I said SHUT UP!"  
He quickly stood up, collected his things, and left the dorm. He made it about twenty feet before he walked into the railing and angrily took out his cane. It was late, so there weren't many people out, making it easier to get home. But he didn't want to go home. He didn't want to deal with his mom right now; he was already in a bad enough mood. Slowly, he made his way to the cafe.  
He sat there for awhile sipping at his coffee. It was quiet, albeit the hissing and sputtering of the coffee makers. The only other person in the place was the barista. He had out his school work, but he didn't bother doing any of it, preferring to simply enjoy the quaint atmosphere of the little cafe. That is, until the door squeaked open. Shoes tapped past his table. They sounded familiar somehow. They where the same shoes that had passed him and Nick earlier that day, or was that yesterday by now. He couldn't tell. He felt eyes on him again. He did his best so ignore the feeling but when it persisted, he was having none of it.   
"Can I help you?" He sarcastically questioned, hoping to startle the guy out of his stare fest. Much to his dismay, the guy apparently took it as an invitation, walking over to him. He heard the chair in front of him scratch against the floor and groan as it was sat on. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?  
"Hey, I'm Adrian." The guy introduced himself as if Christian cared. After a moment of silence, he prompted, "What's your name?"  
"Christian" He monotonously responded. He wasn't feeling very social, he never was.   
"Oh," a pause, "You're in my English class, right?"  
"I wouldn't know. I can't exactly see anyone..." He responded, hoping that guy, Adrian, would leave soon.   
"Right...Sorry. Eight AM with Professor Martin, you're in that class right?"   
He didn't sound like he had any intention of finishing the conversation. "Yeah," Hopefully Adrian would get the hint soon.  
"So, what's your major?" Adrian didn't seem to pick up on the curtness of his answers. He internally sighed. He was stuck in the conversation so he may as well just go along with it.  
"English, well, creative writing."   
"Cool," Adrian sounded excited, "Do you want to be an author, or something like that?"  
"Something like that. I'd like to get published, but I doubt it's ever gonna happen." He sighed. It'd been his dream since he was a kid. He would make up stories and tell them to Nick since they met in second grade. But just couldn't find the inspiration he needed to really start.   
"Don't be so down on yourself! I'm sure it will happen soon!" How was he so positive? Christian could nearly hear the smile in his voice. He sounded so sure of it, Christian almost started to believe him. Almost. Until he remembered he couldn't even find something to write about for the most recent assignment in the very class he shared with Mr. Positivity.   
"Hey, do you know what you're writing about for this next piece? I can't think of anything." Maybe Adrian can actually be useful for something.   
"The one about silver linings? I was gonna right about being the youngest child in my family."  
"Hmm," That didn't really help him at all until-  
"Hey, maybe you can do yours about being blind. I'm sure it's easy to get people to help you with things you don't want to do." Wow, did he really just try to find positive aspects of blindness. This guy had issues. "You better get going on it though, it's due on Tuesday!" Tuesday...what day was it again, Thursday? Friday? Yeah, definitely Friday. Or now Saturday, depending on the time. Three days, he probably should get started on it.   
"Hey," Christian snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Adrian's rough voice, "Do you have a cell phone?"  
"Uh, yeah," Christian pulled out an old flip-phone, he couldn't find anything on those touch screens. "Why?"  
Adrian grabbed it out of his hand and he heard the buttons beeping. Adrian grabbed his hand and he felt the cold metal of the phone in his palm.   
"I put my number in it, it's the second contact. That way we can talk!" Great, now all of his seven, now eight, contacts would be at different spots. He'd have to remember that.   
Regardless, he shot Adrian a "Thanks..."

 

* * *

 

 

Quietly, he opened the front door. Once safely inside the warmth of his house, he stopped for a moment, listening for the snores coming from past the kitchen. Once he was sure he was safe from the cruelty of his mother, he headed towards the stairs.   
Halfway across the living room, he encountered a couch that definitely wasn't there when he had left in the morning. Moving around is he discovered that the whole room had been rearranged. So this was his punishment for his mom coming home drunk. The verbal abuse wasn't enough, she had to go and move around all the furniture so that he couldn't find his way through his own fucking house?   
He took a deep breath, the air smelt like booze and smoke. He couldn't wait until he found away out of this hell hole.  
Eventually he arrived at the steps, counting his way up. The seventh step squeaked so he stepped over it and at the twentieth he had reached the top. He trailed his hand across the dirty wall. First door, second door, third door was the bathroom. He stepped in and turned on the shower. Maybe if he turned it hot enough he could melt and disappear down the drain.

**Author's Note:**

> TELL ME ABOUT YOUR EMOTIONS PLEASE TARYN


End file.
